


if you want my love then take my advice (treat me nice)

by erisian (fraisage)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Face-Sitting, General Absurdity, M/M, Model Louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraisage/pseuds/erisian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Model Louis gets booked for this weird-ass job that turns out to be kind of a mess. Then he and super-famous R&B singer Zayn get kind of messy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you want my love then take my advice (treat me nice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zouisprince](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouisprince/gifts).



For most of the general population, the word ‘model’ brings to mind catwalks, haute couture, fashion week, dating famous musicians, actors, actresses, etc. etc. etc. Marriage and being relegated to arm-candy until you get set aside for a newer model, no pun intended.

So maybe ‘model’ isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when people meet Louis Tomlinson, but he certainly is one—and a damn good one at that, thanks very much.

He’s just a bit more of the waist-cincher, latex, go-go dancing on the weekends to make ends-meet variety.

Though thankfully, now that he’s more established, there’s a lot less go-go dancing.

Not that there’s anything wrong at all with go-go dancing, on principle. In his younger years, Louis has counted on it many a time for money in his pocket and a bit of fun to his weekends.

But at twenty-three Louis isn’t nearly has young as he used to be. His bones are increasingly brittle and his worryingly decrepit body simply _can’t_ take such late nights any more.

Another reason why Louis couldn’t _possibly_ deal with the jet-set life of a famous model. He’s just got such a delicate constitution, all that time spent on private, chartered planes would be just awful. All that champagne would be a real headache.

Well that, and the prospect of being pawed at by horny pervs.

Mostly the latter, honestly.

Louis can handle the staring, expects it more often than not in his line of work—but nobody is allowed to touch his bum without his say so, unless they want to lose a hand.

And he’s found that it’s the pervs with money who _really_ don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves.

So Louis makes his living posing and pouting (and _sweating_ , so much _sweating_ with latex, _Jesus_ ) for the cameras, and he’s pretty proud of his work even if it’s not the kind of thing his mum can brag about to her friends.

And maybe he does a little bit of other endeavors on the side, designing for little, unknown clothing companies, a little bit of this-and-that, building a little nest egg, working on things for his résumé—for when he hits thirty and the work inevitably dries up.

Thankfully he’s still only twenty-three—which means his phone still rings at six in the morning, with his agent haranguing him to get his arse down to whichever studio is going to put food in his mouth this week.

Louis doesn’t even know what the job is exactly, but he trusts his agent. They’d slogged through the trenches together just to get to the point where the both of them could safely pay rent month-to-month.

So when she mentions, “Pay by-the-hour, for a full day’s work,” Louis knows to get his arse moving.

 

*

 

Eleanor’s never steered him wrong.

It turns out Louis’ literally there just to shake his bum for the cameras—basically his specialty.

Louis does this a lot actually, even if it’s not something he can explicitly put on his resume.

Like, ‘butt-double’ stuff.

The fact of the matter if Louis’ got a terrific bum, and a fair amount of far more famous people do not.

So he’s used his particularly perky assets to play the part of ‘bum’ for stars and starlets alike—not that anyone can know about it.

Their lawyers would literally sue his arse off if he went around telling people who he’s worked for, and today should be much the same, he expects.

 

*

 

Except it turns out Louis isn’t the only one who’s going to be in front of the cameras today?

It turns out when one half of an alleged ‘couple’ has a butt that barely shows up on camera, allowances must be made.

So Louis is there to play butt-double for some almost-famous Victoria’s Secret model, and he’s now contractually-obligated (yes, he’d signed the contract without looking over it too much, the pay had promised to be _that_ good—he has no regrets) to hang all over one of the biggest stars in the music industry.

Honestly, Zayn Malik could probably sing ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ in a weird baby-voice and Louis’ clothes would still fly right off.

Even if he’s kind of looking at Louis like he’s just some weirdo that wandered into the studio, like maybe he’s one second away from totally calling security.

Maybe it’s the joggers? Honestly, what’s it matter if he’s wearing his rattiest, baggiest pair, when they’re going to be off in a minute.

“Dunno how he’s going to be any better than Gigi, doesn’t look like he’s got much going on either if you ask me.”

Like, _excuse you_ dickhead? _God_ , it’s always the ones with the pretty faces, isn’t it?

Louis should know as much, he himself can be an absolute bitch when he feels like it (often), and he’s got quite a pretty face, if he does say so himself.

Anyway, he doesn’t even deign that atrocious insult to his person with a response, just strips off his joggers and walks off to makeup in his briefs.

Louis doesn’t even need to look back; he can just _feel_ all eyes on his arse.

Zayn Malik especially, can eat. his. arse.

 

*

 

For Louis, a typical nude shoot goes like this: ditch his clothes, pose for the cameras, put his clothes back on (loathe as he is to do it—nothing’s as freeing as walking around without a stitch of clothing), and he’ll be on his way, with the knowledge that his bank account will be a bit fuller for his troubles.

Of course, most of the time he’s shooting solo—more importantly, usually he’s not supposed to be playing double for some random girl.

Not to brag, but in general, when people hire Louis Tomlinson’s arse, it’s _his arse_ they want.

And like, why does he need to go to wardrobe?

Zayn Malik aside, he’s kind of having second thoughts once a cheerfully-smiling (a bit sinisterly as well, to be honest) wardrobe assistant presents him with the little snip of fabric for his bits.

The bubbly (devilish) girl who hands it to him calls it an ‘asymmetric man thong,’ and it’s intended purpose is to keep his penis and balls out of the way of the cameras (Victoria’s Secret models, in general, have neither penises nor balls—the viewer’s are missing out if you ask Louis).

Its real purpose must be to make Louis’ balls scream for mercy. Like, there’s some really creative tucking going on to make this work.

The little visible strap of fabric that fits over his right bum cheek and hip will apparently have to be edited out in post-processing.

If only they could do the same for Louis’ memories, he and his balls really would like to forget being strangled for the next few hours. 

 

*

 

Ok, so Malik’s already reclining on this really plush couch and apparently _he_ gets to wear clothes?

‘Artistic vision’ aside, Louis is really thinking that the girl (and him, by association) drew the short end of the stick here.

Actually she’s totally lucked out because Louis’ the one doing the legwork here—or rather, the butt work.

Louis would feel at bit of a disadvantage right now if he wasn’t so sure of how good he looks naked. Plus, makeup had decided full-body iridescent white glitter was the rule of the day, so he’s got that going for him.

A few hours under the hot studio lights and Louis’ can probably add ‘ethereal mermaid come to land to seek his fortune’ to his résumé. He’s going to be fucking glistening.

Sweat just really works for him.

If he schmoozes the photographer just right he might even be able get a couple solo shots for his portfolio. This look is really too good to let go to waste.

But the weird blonde wig will definitely have to go before he tries it—might get laughed out of the building if he keeps it on.

Apparently there has to be zero chance of anyone finding out the naked body draped over Zayn Malik isn’t Gigi Hadid—hence the silly wig. And the nondisclosure agreement, of course.

Mostly that.

 

*

 

Even though Louis’ done mostly solo shoots, he’s also done his fair share of pairs, groups, whatever.

And the cardinal rule of working with other people will always be—you help me, I help you. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.

Like, this is stuff you learn in grade school for god’s sakes. _Nobody’s_ getting an extra ten minutes of recess unless _everyone_ works together to convince the teacher. _Honestly._

Well, everyone except Zayn Malik, it seems. Louis has never met someone so completely unhelpful.

Like, he gets that the guy would totally prefer to do this shoot with his girlfriend, alright? But it’s literally not Louis’ fault that her arse is as flat as a pancake.

‘Like attracts like’ is definitely the operative idea here, because neither of these kids (and Louis may only be like a year older than Malik, but yes, _kids_ ) seem to have any bum to speak of.

_Tragic_.

Anyway, this is about being a consummate professional and getting the fucking job done and over with and getting paid. And if that means Louis needs Zayn-fucking-Malik to put his hands on his arse—like the photographer has been asking him to do for the past ten-fucking-minutes, then those hands are getting on his bum even if Louis has to place them on himself. Glue them on even.

And he’s seriously thinking about it, because the guy is still playing statue for some inexplicable reason.

So Louis literally has to pull his hands (lovely tattoos, by the by) onto his waist, and hopefully the lad will figure out he needs to cup Louis’ bum cheeks by his own-self.

Honestly, Louis has found that this tends to be the default action for anyone in the vicinity of his bum anyway (even when it’s sometimes unwelcome).

Anyway the boy does finally get a clue, because there are finally hands cupping his arse as Louis wraps himself around the rest of him, and Louis can’t help but let out a sigh of relief when he hears the lovely sound of the shutter-click.

Like, they can finally get things moving to this endless day. Maybe if he gets lucky the craft table will still have some food for him to take home at the end of the day.

 

*

 

Ok, he spoke too soon.

They’ve progressed through most of the fairly innocuous shots (Louis being completely butt-naked notwithstanding).

But it’d taken _hours_ —and yeah, at the end of the day, this does mean Louis’ getting paid more, but the professional in him is getting a bit huffy.

Like, Louis isn’t even facing the camera, but his bum is still doing the most.

If only Malik and his insanely beautiful face would get with the program. Because to Louis, it seems like the photographer has spent an awful lot of the time trying to coax the man to get his facial expressions in order.

Honestly, Louis hasn’t seen what he’s been doing, but apparently the guy is being weird.

And alright, Louis is no stranger to the burning rays of studio lights, but could the guy _be_ any sweatier? Like, be cool, mate. How can someone’s palms be so clammy and sweaty at the same time?

So it takes them the better part of four hours to get through various iterations of Louis wrapping himself around Malik—most of the time cheek-to-bum-cheek.

Louis hopes the man appreciates his rare opportunity to be in the presence of such greatness.

 

*

 

Louis _really_ hopes Malik appreciates the opportunity to be in the presence of greatness, because he’s gonna get even closer in a minute.

Apparently the photographer’s ‘artistic vision’ involves Louis sitting on Zayn Malik’s face.

The man decides to tell them of his brilliant idea over lunch, and Louis almost wants to laugh out-loud at the sight of peri-peri chicken falling out of Malik’s gobsmacked face.

It’s almost a little weird, how uninvolved the guy is with this whole thing. You’d think he’d have some opinion about this photo-shoot, or at least try to assert himself more.

Louis knows for a fact that Zayn Malik is crazy meticulous about his music, down to the last pixel on his album art (he’s kind of a fan, alright?).

But the guy is like completely checked out?

 

*

 

Louis knows how to sit on a guy’s face, alright. He might even call himself an expert.

Like, an expert face-sitter might not sound impressive, but it’s totally not as easy as it sounds, alright?

Mostly because there’s a fine line between fun-for-everyone and ending-up-in-A&E-because-someone’s-passed-out.

This is gonna be no-fun at all though, mostly because professionalism dictates that Louis can’t actually sit on Malik’s face.

He has to be kneeling, hovering over Zayn’s face at such an angle so the camera can play up the illusion of him sitting on Zayn’s face.

All this on a wooden floor by the way, which is going to wreak havoc on Louis’ knees depending on how long this takes.

Well it’ll be either the floor or all the clutter they’ve got surrounding them—the _clever_ (idiot, idiot, _idiot_ ) photographer’s idea of projecting ‘spontaneity’ to this whole farce is to throw a couple of joints, cigs, and a lighter around them, like a halo around Malik’s head.

_Subtle_.

If only the guy wasn’t such a dead fish. Like, most people would probably kill to have Louis sit on their face.

On the other hand, Zayn Malik, according to the photographer, has an expression much like a man being led to the gallows.

 

*

 

After the sixth (well, the sixth after Louis’ started counting) sigh of frustration from the photographer, Louis decides enough is enough.

He finagles a half-hour mercy break for his poor knees (they really are hurting a bit, to be quite honest, so it’s not _really_ a lie), not that any one seems objectionable.

Everyone looks as weary as Louis’ feels, and happy enough for the break, it’s been such a long day.

Anyway, having a real break is the last thing on Louis’ mind. He’s got thirty minutes to set Malik to rights, unless they want to be here past New Year’s.

As soon as the break is called, Louis spins around, face-to-face for the second time with a Grammy-nominated singer, and he’s honestly got other things on his mind. Mostly yelling.

If yesterday’s Louis (the one who’d spent the evening engrossed in Zayn Malik’s latest album) could see today’s Louis, well he’d be appalled.

The guy looks even more awkward up-close, and Louis doesn’t see why he should be. Well, his bum is out but it’s not like his cock is out swinging every which way.

And Louis’ nipples are rather nice but they certainly aren’t nice enough for Zayn to be turning that shade of red—and he’s shirtless now this far along in the shoot, so he really can’t be that overheated?

Moving on, “What the _fuck_ is your problem, mate?” are the first real words he’s ever spoken to Zayn Malik. Or, hissed, rather.

Yesterday’s Louis would definitely be gushing, but he’s quite tired and he doesn’t have the patience to be gushing over a man who’s making his life so difficult right now.

Even if his latest album almost made Louis ascend to a higher plane it was so fucking amazing.

 

*

 

“Um.”

You’d think that someone who can legitimately sing the pants off entire arenas (Louis’ included) would be more eloquent.

“Look, I know you’d probably rather be doing this with your girlfriend, and I totally get that. This was probably going to be some fun couple-y day for you both to play make-believe in your own little world. But I’m here to do my job and it’s going to get done even if it kills us, yeah?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

_O…kay_ , not really the point he was trying to make. But he can run with this.

“Alright, I mean, if she’s not your girlfriend than this should be ok, right?”

Unless Malik is like, utterly repulsed to be in close proximity with another man’s naked body.

Which, doesn’t really seem like the case. If only because, in Louis’ experience, repulsion usually involves a lot more punching and yelling (he’s not going to get into it, but he does know).

“It’s kind of the problem, bro.”

Celebrities are such weirdoes, _honestly_ , because “What the fuck are you on about, _bro_?”

Malik’s eyes narrow, probably because he doesn’t appreciate Louis being a snarky little shit, “What I mean is _you’re_ _the problem_.”

Ok, Louis probably shouldn’t have mocked the guy who’s got the fate of his job in his hands. He’s kind of panicking a little now, because it sounds like Zayn is going to get him fired?

Like, has he literally just wasted hours of his life on this?

“Oh my god, _please_ don’t get me fired. I literally haven’t done _anything_ to you!” And maybe he’s starting to screech a little, because this is _not fair_.

Watching the emotions play out across the guy’s face would be entertaining if Louis was a bit less panicked. He looks quite sorry now, if not a bit exasperated as well.

Definitely exasperated, from the way he runs a hand through his perfectly-coiffed hair, “’s not what I _mean_.”

Definitely more than a bit exasperated, frustrated, frustrated…sexually?

Oh. _Oh_. OH.

Louis totally gets it now.

Zayn Malik’s problem is the predominant problem for most men on this cold, cruel earth.

His dick’s not cooperating.

As in, he hasn’t been able to pay attention to anything, not the photographer’s direction, not Louis’ pissed-off side-eyeing, not the murderous expressions slowly growing on the crew’s faces, because he’s been trying to get his cock under control.

Because he’s kind of totally into Louis.

And Louis can totally work with this. The not-his-girlfriend thing is really going to make what he says next a lot more okay.

“Alright, mate, let’s make a deal. You and I get through this day, and we can have a bit of our own fun after, yeah?”

 

*

 

He’s happy to say things go a lot smoother after that.

The photographer practically cries from happiness.

Louis kinda wants to too, thinking of his bank account.

Before he knows it, it’s a wrap, and everyone’s eager to get home. And Louis was totally planning on taking an Uber home for a night of Netflix and takeout (if only because he’s got a little bit of money to blow now), but it turns out he’s got other plans tonight. And other things to blow.

Malik, _Zayn_ from now on he supposes, is obviously more than a bit eager to get their deal going, because Louis practically gets dragged out the door to a car with blacked-out windows.

From there it’s a hop, skip, and a jump to some random flat in the middle of the city.

At this point Louis should probably be a little wary, if only because Zayn Malik could have some secret snuff-fetish.

But as it is, he’s not _that_ worried.

Louis could totally fight him off if he turns out to be a murderer.

Like, sit on him until he passes out and make a run for it.

Anyway, from the looks of it, murder is _clearly_ not what’s on Zayn’s mind.

 

*

 

It looks like sixty-nine is tonight’s lucky number.

Zayn does the gentlemanly thing and helps Louis pull off his clothes, leads him to a rather lovely bed, but after that chivalry is dead and gone to dust.

Because he doesn’t waste any time pulling Louis’ body on top of his own, with those deceptively skinny arms.

More importantly, Louis now knows for a fact that Zayn Malik eats arse like a man possessed. Hands on Louis’ hips, pushing him down onto his face.

It’s kind of embarrassing, like Louis prides himself on being a really generous partner, and here Zayn Malik’s mouth has basically got him paralyzed with pleasure.

How the hell is he going to suck the guy’s dick when said guy’s got him shaking so bad?

 

*

 

Well, he does finally manage it. Takes the chance to get his mouth on Zayn’s dick when the guy comes up for air.

Even when he’s off his head, Louis prides himself on his ability to suck dick. Even if he might choke on this one.

Louis kinda gets why Zayn was acting so awkward during the shoot now, because the guy’s totally packing.

So what if Louis is doing less sucking and more slurping and just trying not to suffocate and pass out?

He reckons from how loud Zayn’s moaning; it definitely means he’s liking it.

So they’re in complete agreement.

If Zayn keeps doing his best to tongue-fuck Louis’ mind into oblivion, he’s do his best to suck the guy’s brain out of his dick.

You scratch my back, I scratch yours. The boy is finally getting it, no pun intended.

And Louis is loathe to have him stop, but the addition of a finger to his spit-slicked hole sends him over the edge of desperation.

Quick as a whip, he pulls off Zayn’s face so his bum can meet finally meet the acquaintance of his other rather lovely bits.

The invention of the bedside table is something that Louis will forever be thankful for—well, for that, and for condoms and lube. He’s _really_ thankful for those, and their presence on this blessed, blessed day.

How the hell else would Zayn get his dick in him without the help of fingers (the human hand is a revelation of evolution, _honestly_ ) and generous amounts of lube?

Louis is going to find out who invented the stuff and send them a letter of thanks if he survives this, he thinks.

One, two, three, _four_ fingers playing in his arse and Louis thinks that’s quite enough for tonight.

“Ok, you need to fucking _fuck_ me _now_ ,” he grits out, making grabby-hands at the strip of condoms lying half-out the drawer.

“Be cool babes, we’ve got all night, yeah?”

He’s not wrong, but Louis isn’t about thinking ahead right now, he wants that instant gratification. And it would be really gratifying if Zayn would please (and thank you) fuck him right. this. instant.

The cheeky boy does hand over the condoms though, and Louis gets a little smirk for his trouble.

It doesn’t take him more than a minute to get the condom open and rolled onto Zayn’s dick, and half that to sink down onto it.

 

*

 

The thing about getting fucked is, Louis always gets all _melty_.

Like he’s basically useless on top but he always insists that he wants to ride a guy’s dick until he finally gets it in him and melts into a puddle of goo.

He’s really very cute (and obstinate) you know, so he always gets his way.

And usually his partners just flip Louis over when he’s too far gone to realize, and by then he can’t even complain he just wants to fucking come, _please_.

Everyone except Zayn Malik, apparently.

Because what _he_ does is pull Louis flush against him, chest-to-chest, and proceed to aggressively bounce Louis on his dick like he’s feather-light.

Sets Louis off gasping and whimpering, shaking all over.

If Louis could get fucked like this for the rest of his life, he could live just another week and die happy.

Bliss is getting fucked so hard you come-untouched for the first time in months.

Satisfaction is when your arse is so tight you can literally milk a guy’s orgasm out of him, shaking under you.

 

*

 

So Louis’ spent the better part of a three months in kind of in a low-key ‘thing’ with Zayn Malik. And it’s kind-of-maybe-serious-but-not?

Like, serious enough that condoms aren’t really a thing anymore, but not so much that they’ve really _talked_ about it?

Which probably isn’t the way to go about establishing a real relationship but like, what is a ‘real’ relationship anyways?

Spending almost a month in each other’s pockets feels pretty real.

Getting tested so condoms could not-be-a-thing anymore felt pretty real. Well, real or not, Louis isn’t dumb enough not to make them get tested before he tosses condoms out the window—like bare feels amazing but not course-of-antibiotics-amazing, y’know?

Waking up with Zayn’s big dick still in him, morning-wood present for duty, feels pretty real. And its kind of been his favorite thing lately, to be honest.

But as nice as it is, it’s not quite the reason why Louis’ woken up today. That designation goes to his mobile, which interrupts the peaceful morning with to the tune of Lana Del Rey’s ‘Off to the Races.’

Louis isn’t racing off anywhere, not with the vice grip of the arm around his waist (and there’s no reason to go anywhere, not when he’s got the finish line’s right here with the flag in his sights), it’s owner’s face pressed into the back of his neck—but he does answer the damn thing.

Predictably, because she’s literally the only one who’d dare to call him this fucking early—Louis doesn’t wake up at 6am unless there’s the prospect of money to get him moving, it’s Eleanor.

And she sounds pretty fucking excited.

“Listen up sweetcheeks, you’re gonna fucking _die_ when you hear this—“

Louis really doesn’t understand why Eleanor still insists on calling him ‘sweetcheeks.’ Didn’t she learn her lesson the last time?

The last time being when her mum had overheard her on the phone with him again, and ended up insisting she and her ‘sweetcheeks’ come down over the weekend to visit dear old mum and dad.

It goes to show how loyal they are to each other, because Louis had actually agreed to pretend to be Eleanor’s boyfriend—he really does love her, and not just because she’s amazing at booking him jobs.

Thankfully, they’d ‘broken-up’ quite soon after, on the advice of lovely Mrs. Calder.

Apparently she felt it was ill-advised for her daughter to date a guy with a bum nicer than hers.

Honestly, Louis had been a bit indignant on Eleanor’s part—she had a perfectly lovely arse. Like, Max (Eleanor’s _real_ boyfriend, not that she’d be letting her mother know anytime soon) didn’t seem to have any complaints.

Nonetheless they had ‘broken-up’ but elected to remain good friends, for which Mrs. Calder was quite happy to hear, apparently he was still a “perfectly lovely boy, do try to let him down easy El, dear.”

Anyway, Louis should probably start listening to whatever Eleanor’s so excited about, even though he doesn’t actually _want_ to die. Zayn probably knows CPR, right?

“I honestly dunno how you managed it, because frankly you’ve got a terrible personality and you’re an awful, awful boy, but Zayn Malik’s manager just called me last night, and apparently they want you back to do his album cover and if all goes well maybe _more_.”

What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? From how frantic El’s voice is getting she must think he really has died.

He can’t do more than stutter out a “Yes,” before the line goes dead, apparently being shocked into auto-pilot means you hang up on the most amazing opportunity ever.

Hopefully she got the picture.

Not that it matters, when Louis can go right to the source, currently playing the part of Sleeping Beauty beside him.

They’ve spent enough time together for Zayn to know that he’d better wake up when Louis starts prodding at him, because he’s not going to let up until he gets his way.

Big brown eyes, framed with long, long lashes open up slowly—their owner clearly hasn’t felt like he’s gotten enough sleep.

It doesn’t keep him from giving Louis a good-morning smile for is trouble though, which is nice of him.

“So this what all those private phone calls were about, innit?” He emphasizes the point with a poke to Zayn’s chest, right on the permanent red kiss-mark.

‘Dunno what you mean,” that smile is awfully mischievous for this early in the morning, especially from a not-morning person. But not for someone who knows exactly what Louis is talking about.

“You want me in your bed. You want me on your album. You want me in your video. Have I got that all right?” He punctuates each statement with an eskimo-kiss (he’s really good at being cute in the mornings, ok?).

“Want you for a lot more than that, babes,” and the kiss to his lips and the arm that tightens around his waist seems to prove his point, “Want you for like, _life_."

He doesn’t need much more convincing for them to go back to sleep, wrapped around each other.

It’s _real_.

Oh, and Zayn better make his arse look amazing on his album cover—like, down to the last pixel.

**Author's Note:**

> I think this really could've been better, but I hope it's ok for what it is. 
> 
> No offense meant to any side characters, like I couldn't care less about them but they're there for convenience's sake.
> 
> Sometimes I don't know what to do with my Zouis heart.


End file.
